


I Walk The Line AU One-Shot

by AJuneRose



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25341745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJuneRose/pseuds/AJuneRose
Summary: A reimagining of the gunshot trauma case from I Walk The Line. What if Meredith were one of the surgeons who worked on Collin? What if that triggered memories of the painful past and trapped her in a vivid flashback she couldn't escape? Just another one of the realistic PTSD flashback fics that are my guilty pleasure! Mer/Alex friendship and implied romance and MerLuca pairing.
Relationships: Andrew DeLuca/Meredith Grey, Meredith Grey/Alex Karev
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	I Walk The Line AU One-Shot

The ER was charged with an undercurrent of foreboding electricity; Meredith felt it the moment the elevator doors opened in front of her, making the tiny hairs on her forearms rise before she had even taken a step. Peeling off her used gloves in one fluid motion, she moved tentatively forward into the stream of organized chaos and tried to discern what was different about today. As usual, doctors and nurses strode briskly across the floor of the pit, each focused on performing their specific tasks with an air of practiced efficiency. As usual, the room hummed with the urgency necessary for maintaining the quick turnover rate that was standard at Grey Sloan- patients were quickly triaged and rushed off to imaging or to the OR or simply sent home. None of this was out of the ordinary either, and Meredith stood for a moment, unmoving in the midst of a bustling sea of scrubs, wondering if she had been wrong. But she noted the clipped tightness in the charge nurse's voice when she pushed past her, shouting to ask someone Meredith couldn't see if her consult had arrived yet. And the sight of a group of doctors huddled somberly around a TV in the corner, which was playing the news, sent her stomach plummeting to her feet in dread. Something had happened; she knew her instincts were right even before she was close enough to read the captions under the reporter's solemn face or to hear the shocked murmurs of her coworkers. A powerful wave of Deja- Vu washed over her, sending her tumbling in the strength of its current, unable to ignore the sinking feeling that she had lived this day before.

"Meredith!" She heard Owen call her name as if from underwater; his voice sounded muffled and distant, and she didn't respond until she felt his rough hand briefly squeeze her shoulder as he jogged past her toward the glass doors of the trauma bay. The warning wail of a siren announced an incoming ambulance and shook her out of her thoughts. Drawing a deep breath of the stuffy hospital air in an effort to brace herself, she turned sharply on her heel to follow her friend to the sound, pausing only to grab a new pair of gloves and a yellow protective gown, tugging them on quickly when she reached his side.

"What's going on?" She questioned quietly as they waited for the ambulance to roll to a stop in front of them.

"Gunshot wound on a 16-year-old kid," Owen's voice sounded strained as he tossed her a terse answer, eyes never leaving the back of the rig. He held his shoulders stiffly, looking like a tightly coiled spring, already focused and prepared to leap into action the second the vehicle's doors swung open.

"Someone opened fire at a community parade." He continued. "That's all we know for now."

The mention of gunshots instantly sent burning bile clawing its way up the back of Meredith's throat and dark spots dancing across her vision, and when Owen turned to train his evaluating gaze suddenly on her face- which she was sure had noticeably paled- she watched the Adam's apple in his throat bobbing violently as he swallowed hard, no doubt also wrestling with resurfacing demons from his own past. They shared a haunted look for a moment, eyes filled with painful memories of all they had seen and survived; but when Owen spoke, it was only to ask a straightforward question, his tone was neutral and free from judgement.

"Are you ok to assist on this?"

Outwardly, Meredith nodded in response, pressing her lips into a grim smile that she hoped was a convincing show of confidence. But inwardly she was reeling, unable to keep her thoughts from spiraling back through time to another day that had started off as usual but ended tragically- another shooter, another bullet- one that her family had never fully recovered from. The paramedics opened the doors of the ambulance then, and Meredith watched Hunt lunge immediately forward to help them maneuver the unwieldy gurney to the ground, but she stayed where she was for the space of another breath, squeezing her gloved hands tightly together to still their obvious trembling and closing her eyes for a steadying moment against the spreading circle of crimson blood she saw blossoming through the boy's shirt. When she finally opened her eyes again, forcing her feet to move alongside the gurney that Owen was pushing into the trauma bay and her hands to lift the bandage and check the patient's wound, his face became Derek's face, twisted in agony, and instead of his labored breathing, all she could hear were echoes of her own tortured screams from so long ago.

This is not Derek.

She reminded herself sternly, hating herself for her weakness, fighting through breakers of paralyzing panic that threatened to drown her in a riptide of terrifying memories.

"What's your son's name, sir?" She asked the boy's sobbing father, who had followed them into the room.

"Collin." The man choked out in a shocked, strangled whisper that made her breath catch with its familiarity- she knew it well, she had used it herself. "It's Collin."

This is not Derek, she repeated desperately in her mind, this is not Derek. This is Collin, and he needs your help.

"Collin, can you hear me? She asked loudly, as she inserted a large bore saline IV into the teen's arm and yelled for a unit of blood. "I'm Dr. Grey, and this is Dr. Hunt. You've been shot, but we've got you. It's all going to be ok."

"Call ahead to OR 3," she distantly heard Owen instruct one of the interns in the room, his words seemed muted against the blaring soundtrack of panic playing in her mind. "Let them know we're heading up. Have the blood bank on standby, and page someone to meet us up there. Ready?" When Owen turned abruptly toward her, Meredith flinched at the sudden movement, a surge of adrenaline sending her heart racing, but she managed a calm nod in reply and heard herself answer,

"Let's move."

She was relieved at how steady she sounded, grateful that a slight crack in her voice was the only betrayal of the hurricane storm of memory and emotion she was weathering inside. The hospital blurred around her as they rushed down the halls to the OR, and minutes later, as she scrubbed in before surgery, she forced herself to have tunnel vision, to focus only on the grounding pain of the scalding water running over her hands, and on Collin and the motions of the complicated surgery that her well trained fingers could perform instinctually- every detail captured in her muscle memory. She forced herself to ignore the nausea still churning in her stomach, and the tears stinging her eyes and the crushing weight pressing on her chest that made it impossible to draw a full breath.

Later, she promised herself. Later, she could fall apart. Right now, Collin needed her, Hunt needed her, and she needed to focus. So Meredith let her world narrow until all that was real were her gloved hands and the needle they held, the unconscious patient in front of her and the rhythmic beeping of machinery, and told herself that the terrifying images floating through her thoughts were just remnants of a bad dream.

The surgery was long and complicated; the bullet had been lodged dangerously close to Collin's lung and it had taken all of their combined skill to repair the damage without nicking his lung sac. Meredith sighed in relief when she finished closing, tightly anchoring her final perfect stitch, and arching her aching back to relieve some of the stiffness that standing for 5 hours had caused. She tried her best to keep her grip on the safe cocoon of focus her mind had wrapped around itself during the procedure, but as soon as the distraction of the surgery was finished and her hands set down her needle and forceps, as soon as she glanced up from the surgical field and noticed that the darkening blood which soaked the sterile drape was also splattered across the floor and staining the front of her gown, she felt her calm facade slip quickly out of her grasp. All of the panic and trauma that she had been holding at bay came crashing suddenly back through her flimsy defenses, colliding with her exhaustion to create a debilitating combination. Her feet felt like lead weights, too heavy to move, holding her in place even as Owen left to scrub out and a team of ICU nurses worked around her, preparing to transfer Collin to recovery. She knew it was flaring up again- the effects of the PTSD that she had tried unsuccessfully to repress- when she felt the familiar hand of anxiety wrap its fingers around her throat, squeezing her trachea in a viselike grip until she gasped for air, hyperventilating in chemically- created desperation. The feeling of dread that always loomed ominously in the background of her days, twisting her stomach into unwarranted knots, came forward to take center stage now- too intense to ignore any longer. Her brain betrayed her- mistakenly reacting to the powerful memories as if they were an immediate danger to escape- and answered by releasing a spike of adrenaline that pushed her body into fight or flight mode, sending every muscle trembling from the powerful sense of impending doom that slammed into her unexpectedly. The force of the feeling sent her stumbling backward, carefully away from the sterile field, and her hands flew up to frantically rip off her used gloves and her scrub cap, not caring where they fell on the dirty floor as long as she was free from their constraints. Some corner of her mind distantly knew that what she was feeling was not real, but she was too exhausted to rationalize the fear away this time. Her gasps turned abruptly to gags when the vivid flashbacks began, and she barely had enough time to tear off her surgical mask and lean over a pile of used towels before her stomach rebelled, violently purging itself of everything she had eaten that morning. Meredith heaved, over and over again, until there was nothing left to bring up but acidic bile, until her eyes stung with tears and her forehead shone with cold sweat. Her knees threatened to buckle, and she sank to the floor before they could make good on their threat. She knelt in blood, somehow still hot and slick, and that was what snapped the final tether precariously mooring her to reality, sending her mind drifting, unanchored, dragged unwillingly back through time. The OR around her slowly faded as the line between past and present blurred, and suddenly the sticky blood on her hands wasn't Colin's anymore, it was Derek's; and she was back on that bridge again, shaking with shock and pleading with the universe to give them more time, desperately trying to hold pressure on the gaping wound in his chest but failing to stop the crimson tide that kept just kept flowing over her fingers. The acrid odor of phantom gunpowder curled around her, mingling with the metallic scent of Collin's coagulating blood and filling her nostrils as overpoweringly as if Gary Clark were standing over her again, holding the smoking gun that had nearly killed her husband. It's not real, she told herself, begging, pleading for her desperate thought to be true.

It's not real.

But all she could see was Derek's still body, lying crumpled on the ground in front of her feet, and all she could feel were Cristina's slender arms around her waist, pulling her back, ripping her away from danger- away from Derek. The mention of a shooting had been the initial trigger, over five hours ago, and Meredith had delayed the inevitable for as long as she could. But now, too weary to resist any longer, she gave in, surrendering herself to the deluge of vivid imagery her traumatized mind brought crashing back into her consciousness, not even seeing the uneasy glances that the ICU nurses cast her way as they finished their work and filtered out of the room one by one, taking the patient with them and leaving her all alone with her demons. She didn't notice Deluca appear in the gallery either, stepping up to the glass with a smile, intentionally wearing the look of sexy distraction she had half-heartedly forbidden earlier- before the ground had yawned open under her feet and sent her free- falling through a past she could never seem to escape.

Andrew's smile faded as soon as he saw Meredith's slight form crouched and trembling in the middle of the abandoned OR, replaced by a pang of fear and a frown of concern as he took in the gasping tears she didn't seem to realize she was crying, and her blue scrubs that had been turned an ugly brown, stained by the darkening blood she was painted with. He crossed the short distance from the gallery window to the intercom on the wall in two long strides, pressing the button that sent his voice crackling through the speaker system mounted overhead and not even bothering to attempt to sound professional or uninvested when he gently asked her what was wrong.

"Hey. Hey, Meredith, it's me. Talk to me, what happened?"

When she didn't respond or even move, seemingly frozen to her spot on the floor, Andrew ran without pausing to think. His legs pumped in time with his racing heart, carrying him swiftly out of the gallery, down stairs and through hallways until he reached OR 3. He didn't stop until he was through the doors and skidding to a stop behind Meredith's back, his feet struggling to maintain their footing on the slippery floor between them. The room smelled like blood and vomit and surgical soap, and his eyes watered unhappily at the overpowering mixture of unpleasant smells that assaulted his senses, but he resisted the urge to return to fresher air. Slowly, like he would approach a wounded animal he didn't want to startle, he sank to his knees by Meredith's side, ignoring the creeping chill of coagulated blood soaking through his scrub pants to set one warm hand on her shoulder. He ignored her flinch at the unexpected contact, hoping his touch might offer her some support for what he assumed from the scene around them and her shocked demeanor must have been an unbelievably bad outcome. He leaned forward, hovering close enough for his lips to brush her braided hair as he spoke, switching involuntarily back to his native Italian and letting the beautiful old language make his words sound lyrical and lilting.

"Ehi. Ehi, Meredith, sono io. Sono qui, parla con me. Quello che è successo?" He murmured softly at her, offering assurance that he was there with her and begging for her to talk to him, to tell him what was wrong. But Meredith still gave him no response, not even a glance. When she made no move to acknowledge his presence at all, Andrew inched closer to inspect her more thoroughly, feeling his concern evolve into something sharper and more urgent when he noticed her shoulders trembling uncontrollably under his careful hand. She was drenched in sweat, he could see it glistening on her face, pasting her scrub shirt to her flushed skin; and her eyes seemed glassy and unseeing, fixed ahead on some invisible horror.

For a brief, terrifying moment, he wondered if she was injured, if the blood they were both covered in was her own. But after his panicked hands had run carefully over her body, assessing her slight form for obvious injuries and mercifully finding none, he felt doubt begin to rise in his mind, causing him to rock back onto his heels and pause to consider the woman in front of him. He had assumed at first that the surgery on the GSW kid must have gone poorly, and that Meredith had been shaken by the rare bad outcome, simply mourning the loss of a patient. Then when she hadn't responded to either his words or his touch, he'd worried that she must have been injured and in shock. But Meredith was strong- her brilliance and strength were two of the aspects that had first attracted him to her- and besides that, she was experienced. She had been a surgeon for too many years to let a scalpel slip and cut her, or to give in to a breakdown this complete over one bad outcome, no matter how heart wrenching the case might be. She was stronger than anyone he had ever met- this woman that he barely knew yet thought he might be in love with- and the one thing he was sure of was that it would take an unthinkable level of tragedy to reduce her to this state. He had heard rumors though, over the months he had worked at Grey Sloan, horrifying whispers of the tragic way this hospital had earned its name, of devastating catastrophes that had taken place within its walls- and Meredith Grey was at the center of all of them. He had always found the stories too fantastic to be true, dismissing them as merely a product of the overactive imaginations of bitter interns who were tired of scut work. But watching her now, hyperventilating on a cold concrete floor, seemingly lost in tormented memories of a past he had no part in, Andrew felt an icy certainty creep slowly into his gut, telling him that the rumors must all be true. He felt useless, crouching there by her side, powerless to help her and hating himself for it. He wanted to take Meredith's hand and pull her out of whatever self starring horror movie was replaying in her mind, but how could he call her back to him when he didn't know where she had gone?

When the doors to the OR banged forcefully open behind him a minute later, Andrew jumped to his feet, startled out of his morose thoughts by the way jarring noise echoed in the open space. He moved instinctually to angle his broad shoulders between Meredith and the door, shielding her from view, wanting to protect her privacy during such a vulnerable moment. Once he saw that the intruder was Alex Karev, he let his tense muscles slowly relax, realizing that Meredith would feel no need to hide from the man who she called her 'person'- he already knew everything about her. She and Alex were close friends, he knew this; he had watched them around the hospital for months. He had noted with poorly concealed envy how close they stood to each other in the hallways, the air of easy familiarity in the way Alex's hand protectively brushed the small of Meredith's back, and how trustingly she let her head drop onto his shoulder as she laughed at something he said; and it was impossible to miss the way Karev's whole face lit up like Christmas whenever Meredith smiled at him. Andrew had actually thought that they were a couple until Jo had heard him whisper his suspicions to Stephanie one night after their shifts had ended. She had come stalking furiously across the locker room floor to set him straight, bitter jealousy making her voice sound unusually stern and clipped as she informed him exactly who Karev was dating. Andrew fought against some of that same jealousy now as he stepped wordlessly aside, silently revealing who Alex was obviously searching for, and frowned at how immediately his bloodshot eyes focused on Meredith, as if drawn to her by some force of invisible magnetism, ignoring him completely.

He must have been there too,

Andrew realized, studying the expression on Karev's haggard face.

…wherever Meredith is right now.

Alex looked like his first glimpse of Meredith had made him physically ill; and for a tense second Andrew thought he was going to throw up as he watched the pediatric surgeon's already ashen cheeks pale further still. But instead, he rushed to crouch by Meredith's side, not even hesitating to drag his clean scrubs through the scarlet puddle still surrounding her. His gaze seemed just as haunted as Meredith's, and Andrew didn't miss the brief, subconscious motion when one hand moved to his side, clutching as if holding pressure on a phantom wound for a split second before slipping carefully under Meredith's chin to cradle her face in a gentle caress. Alex spoke too softly for Andrew to understand the murmured words, but he watched the other man's lips move against Meredith's ear. She leaned almost imperceptibly into his chest, blinking away tears as Alex's whispered reassurances seemed to find the right words to gradually extricate her thoughts from the prison of the past and guide her back into reality, accomplishing what he had failed to do. Awareness filtered slowly back into Meredith's eyes, and Andrew watched as she turned to gather a handful of Alex's scrubs in one shaking fist- her grip desperate- like she was drowning and he was the only thing that could keep her afloat. When she threw herself into her friend's waiting arms, burying her face in his neck and surrendering to heaving, echoing sobs, Andrew turned abruptly away, feeling his face flush hot with the emotions he couldn't conceal. Though he knew he had no right to be, he was envious of the obvious connection that Meredith and Alex shared. He felt suddenly uncomfortable, like an outsider rudely intruding on an intimate moment. Sighing deeply, he turned to walk silently out of the operating room, careful to ensure that the door latched behind him so that they wouldn't be disturbed. But before he left, he paused, unable to resist his selfish need to take one last look at Meredith through the transparent glass panel set into the top half of the heavy door. He watched her secretly for one stolen moment, sobered by the vulnerable scene before him. There was so much about this beautiful, brilliant woman that he didn't know- but he wanted to. Far from lessening his respect or admiration for her, witnessing a crack in the mask of impervious strength that she usually wore had only increased his regard for her. The private moments they had spent together and the little pieces of herself that she had trusted him with so far had left him wanting nothing more than to get to know the rest of her- to plumb the depths of all the joy and the pain that she kept hidden behind her mysterious smile. More infallibly than he had ever known anything before, Andrew knew he was all in. The age difference she kept protesting didn't scare him, her demons didn't scare him; he was ready, whenever she invited him in, to stand by her side and face them both together. As he turned to trudge slowly back toward the pit, his lunch break spent without eating, Deluca's thoughts were far from surgeries and patients. He was still thinking about one blonde surgeon who had captivated him completely from the moment he had first seen her. He resolved to be there for Meredith Grey in whatever capacity she would allow, until the day when she could trust him enough to let him be the one that she turned to for comfort; until it was his strong arms- not Alex's- that were her life preserver, and his fortunate lips that got to press little kisses into her lavender-scented hair.


End file.
